A Moment's Notice
by WinterElle
Summary: Season 9, Episode 23 In the brief span of time between Dean's last breath as a human and his first as a demon, something truly extraordinary happens. One shot.


Over the last few years, Dean had seen a helluva lotta weird, but this reached a whole new level. One minute he was with his brother, bleeding and dying. The next he was sitting on a stone bench in somebody's freakin garden. Flowers and flowering bushes he would never admit he knew some of the names of, -hyacinth, hydrangeas, lavender, azaleas, bluebells, tea roses-, all bloomed in spectacular display in every direction. Wary green eyes darted around, taking in his peaceful environment in contradictorily growing alarm.

His clothes were clean, he noticed as he took a quick inventory. Denim shirt, jeans, jacket, they were all the same. Minus the blood stain and the hole where the knife had entered his chest_. _He rana hand into his shirt and found the wound gone like it had never been. Patting his jacket pockets, he found that the rest of his things were missing. His keys, his pocket knife. Running a hand along his calf, the sheath for his other knife was gone too. Everything. Was. Just. Gone_. Damn._

_Don't just sit, man. Can't sit forever. Cowboy up,_ he thought as he pushed to his feet braced for pain but finding none.

"You could actually sit forever, if you really wanted to. You've earned it."

Dean's hackles rose as a voice came from somewhere behind him, and he spun searching for the source, flexing to a crouch automatically. But he was still alone. _Well, maybe it hadn't come from behind him exactly_, he amended. It actually seemed to be coming from all around, vibrating off the bench, the tree line, even the flowers. Everything, even the ground and the air shuddered with that force of the words.

Because he knew enough to trust his senses, he decided he had actually heard someone speak and wasn't just crazy. _Not this time, at least._

"Who's that?"

"Hello, Dean." The vibrating happened again, but Dean ignored it as Chuck Shurley, of all people, stepped from the tree line and into the clearing. The last time he'd seen Chuck the poor guy had been picking teeth out of his hair and trying not to blow chunks. Now he wore white pants and what looked like a white silk shirt, open at the throat. -_Who wears white pants? Really?- _

Aside from being a walking fashion faux pas, his beard was neatly trimmed, a real feat for Chuck, and peace radiated from him in waves. This was the same guy who spent his days and nights vibrating uncertainly between suicide by alcoholic liver damage and tumbling into a complete nervous breakdown. But now he watched Dean with a quiet smile that reflected in bright blue eyes.

"Hey man. What's up?" Eyes darting around them, he went on, asking what he really wanted to know. "Where the hell are we?" His blue eyes danced, but Chuck only shrugged in answer.

"Considering the mortal wound you were sporting a minute ago, I'd say we're probably in heaven, Dean. Don't you think?"

But Dean shook his head, his hand moving reflexively to the Mark of Cain on his forearm. With that, he wouldn't be welcome in Heaven. He knew that for sure.

"It's gone." Chuck's smile widened.

"Gone?" Dean's eyes had gone wide. Chuck didn't know…not any of it. He hadn't been around in years, so how could he know?

"The mark. It's gone." He gestured and nodded, suggesting Dean take a look for himself.

As Dean pulled up his sleeve and found only forearm and nothing else, Chuck went on. "You're right. The mark isn't welcome here. But you're separate from that mark. It doesn't define you and it never did."

Dean considered for a minute, taking in, again, the flowers, the bench, the peaceful tree line. Okay, so maybe this was heaven. That meant that Chuck was dead too.

"I'm sorry, man. I thought the whole "prophet status" thing would keep you safe. Having an archangel sitting on your shoulder and all."

Chuck grinned. "I'm not dead, Dean. Just you."

Dean's brows rose. "Not dead? Um….Chuck. This is heaven. You said so yourself. So how would you get to heaven unless you were dead." He sounded like he was speaking to slow witted four year old because Chuck seemed to fit the bill perfectly.

"This is just my home." The statement was so concise and Chuck's confidence so complete that Dean wanted to knock on Chuck's head with his knuckles to see if anyone was home.

Dean laughed. "I've been here myself a time or two. Nobody alive lives in Heaven, Chuck. Except angels and an absent God."

Chuck grinned and raised a hand. "Guilty. But officially not absent anymore."

Dean paced as he processed what Chuck was saying. You couldn't get much more guano crazy than this. He was stuck in heaven….somebody else's version of heaven – because _his_ sure didn't consist of a flower garden- _How embarrassing! Uggh!_- with Chuck, who now believed that he was God. _Perfect. Just friggin' awesome._

"Ok, you gotta pull it together, Chuck." He put his hands on both of the smaller man's shoulders and shook him a little. Desperate. Dean was feeling desperate. Maybe Chuck could help him find a way out of here if the guy could think clearly again.

"You were a writer, dude. You wrote books about Sam and I before the craptastic extravanganza even started. You can't possibly be God. Cas called you a prophet, remember?"

"Cas!" Now there was a guy that knew his way around Heaven. Castiel's home territory actually. It helped to have friends in high places, and the guy being a high ranking angel didn't hurt. Maybe Cas could save him from Crazy Chuck and help him get back to Sam.

"Ah, Castiel. Yeah, he's got problems of his own at the moment. Would you like to see what I mean?" Not waiting for an answer, Chuck turned to face a portion of the tree line and it melded together with a swirl becoming what seemed like a window, or a portal. Dean stepped closer, surprised as he recognized his friend fighting for his life.

Castiel was surrounded by what looked like dozens of demons that moved against him as one. He fought alone, moving methodically, touching and toasting one after another, his jaw tight as he moved so fast sometimes Dean couldn't see him at all. The dirty trench coat flapped around him as he tossed off one assailant after another, but from this vantage point, Dean could see that more lined up to take the through the place of the ones he'd vanquished.

"What the hell is he doing?" Worry for his friend made his voice high and harsh.

"He's storming the gates of hell singlehandedly. Looking for you."

"But he can't.." Dean choked on his astonishment as a rush of loyalty rose up. "But, I'm not…" He couldn't even finish a thought.

"I have to go." He said instead. It was a small sentence, but it was all he could force out around the concern for his friend and the lump in his throat. It would work.

"No. Dean. It's alright." Chuck stepped closer to the portal, leaning forward slightly and pursed his lips. Dean watched, his mouth hanging open as Chuck just blew, a light even breath into the portal.

The sheer force of it struck the demons like a tidal wave sweeping over them. Bodies flying in a mass as one, they were forced back into what Dean now saw was the gate, a black moving swirl behind them. Screams tore from throats as they were carried into the swirling mass. The last one, the one that Cas had his hands wrapped around by the throat, was torn from a powerful grip and also swallowed whole by the gate. The roiling mass of clouds and filth that made up the gate slammed shut with an inhuman roar that was torn from a million throats.

Castiel stood alone and unharmed by the shearing force of the torrential power Chuck had unleashed with only a breath.

Cas' eyes had gone wide and searching as the wind first stirred around the battlefield. Now he stood, the gale overtaking him, his hands spread wide behind him as the wind pulled at the edges of his coat and moved fondly through his hair.

It seemed then that a veil fell away as Dean saw his friend as he had never seen him before. Chin high, eyes closed in submission, the tattered trench coat, the filthy clothes, blended away, layer upon layer until all that was left was a long white robe that touched the ground. It pulsed with a light so bright that Dean had to shield his eyes. Castiel's great white wings stretched out behind him, filled with and drawn tight by the winds. The dazzling plumage, fully spread, spanned thirty feet around Castiel's frame and moved with him, as much a part of him as an arm or a leg.

When the winds died away, Castiel hung his head and turned away from the gate, his mission left unaccomplished. It seemed that Castiel recognized the breath of his Father, and His will. Head hung low, he turned and walked away empty handed, his shoulders bowed with his defeat.

That was when Dean truly understood, and truly believed.

Anger burned low as images danced across his mind's eye. Jo, Bobby, Jessica, his mother, his father, Kevin, and finally Sam's unending pain all rose up like a torrent of their own, all reminders of those Dean couldn't save and all that he had lost. The burn of anger became a roaring fire in his chest.

Green eyes hard and narrow, he turned to face Chuck and a single hand balled into a tight fist. With all his strength, he threw the punch that jarred Chuck, but didn't force him off his feet as Dean had hoped. He'd had his heart set on falling on the guy and wailing on him for a minute or two before he was obliterated, but evidently that wasn't going to happen.

Instead, Chuck smiled, rubbing his chin in the place where Dean's fist had landed.

"I guess you believe me now." Dean threw another punch, but this time Chuck dodged, grinning.

"Now I gave you the first one as a free shot. You deserved that, at the very least. But let's be real here Dean. You can't win this fight."

"When has that ever stopped me?"

Chuck actually laughed. "Good point." Chuck turned back toward the stone bench and had a seat where Dean had been sitting when he'd opened his eyes before.

"You're angry. I understand that. I can relate, even. But I have a right to my say, just like anyone else, don't you think?"

Dean considered, still boiling with hot anger.

"I guess it's consistent. Most monsters get to have their spiel before I end them. So sure. Have at it, dude."

Chuck laughed long and hard, patting the bench beside him to invite Dean to join him.

"Monster?" Chuck snorted finally. "Oh, that's rich. You always did make me laugh."

Dean swaggered forward, throwing caution to the wind. _He'd just landed a right hook in God's face, what else did he have to lose?_ He settled onto the stone bench beside the guy he had once considered a friend.

"Well, what would you call it?" Dean leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. "You've sat here, on your high cloud and watched while my brother and I have lost everyone and everything we've ever loved, and never done a _damn thing_ to help. You set us up like dominoes to fall for the sake of strategy and entertainment. I've been torn inside out," Dean's voice caught, as he thought of the time he'd spent in hell ripping and tearing at other souls while his own was shredded in the process, but he kept going. "a thousand times, all for an audience of One. You."

"Who else does that, but a monster?"

Chuck had grown still and quiet, listening carefully as Dean spouted hatred in all directions.

"I can see how you would feel that way. But nothing is ever truly that simple." When Dean turned, mouth open to argue, he found brilliant blue eyes watching him that radiated warmth and compassion instead of the anger he'd been expecting.

"Alright then, we'll come back to that. What about Cas, just now? He has done everything, and I mean everything he thought you would want. Your will is his top priority. He even calls you his Father. Stands up for you when no one else will. And where have you been? He looked for you for months. Months! Just trying to find out what the right thing to do was. And loyal. Man…" Dean shook his head. He was just gathering steam. "I don't know of a more loyal _anything_ than him. We've had our issues, he and I, but even then, he starts a war with the gates of hell all alone. For me. Me! And how do you reward that? Just now….you sent him packing and looking broken down. What the hell?"

Chuck held up a hand, and Dean sputtered to a stop. "I'm not one for explaining Myself as a rule, but alright. I hear you. Let's take my treatment of Cas as your example of my being a monster." Chuck sat back, mirroring Dean's arms crossed across his chest and crossed one leg over another.

"How do you think it is that he's still standing, Dean, after all he's been through and the mistakes he's made?"

Dean had to admit he didn't have an answer for that. He just shrugged.

"He's important to me. Very." One eyebrow raised, Chuck scanned Dean's disbelieving face. "As important to me as Sam is to you."

Dean actually snorted at that.

"Look at where he's been." A hand outstretched for emphasis, Chuck went on. "I've lost so many to rebellion and despair. But Cas stands strong, no matter what happens. And all of them are important. All of them."

"There are laws that hold the universe together, Dean. There are balances that I put in place myself that stretch the fabric of reality to a breaking point and then hold it in place. Even I am bound by those laws, or the whole thing flies apart and I lose _all_ of you. But even still, I've pushed the envelope for Cas…and for you. Back door answers, one time shots, unbreakable deals that get broken. Where do you think all of that came from? How often have you, Cas, and your brother cheated death? If you _really _think that's luck, you've got more faith than I gave you, that's for sure." Chuck laughed a little to himself.

Dean took all of that in, his eyes distant, as he tried to follow what Chuck was saying. Laws. Balances. It was a little too much for him to understand, but he wasn't stupid, either. He was here, talking with God for a reason. If he wasn't going to be demolished, and the punch should've cemented that, then what exactly was he doing here?

"Because I wanted a moment with you, that's all. Just you and I, to figure out where you go from here."

"So you're asking what it is that I want?"

Chuck nodded. "Yes."

Sam's face, the despair he'd seen in his brother's eyes as Dean had been gasping out his last breath played through his mind. "I want to go back."

"I can't just send you back after a knife through your heart or dead people will start popping up all over the place. Imagine the mess that would be. If I break the law for one, it's broken for all." Dean huffed in frustration and Chuck went on. "Don't get me wrong. It can be arranged, but at this stage there'll be a hefty price for it. Things you won't like, becoming something terrible for a while. Is that really what you want?"

But Dean wasn't really listening, not to all of it. All he heard was that there was a way back to Sammie. "Yes, I'm sure."

An hollow echo of a voice floated through Dean's mind.

"What you're feeling right now — it's not death." _That voice. It was familiar. Who is that?_

"It's Crowley, Dean." Chuck's smile was long gone. "He's your way back."

"Crowley? Really?" _That can't be good._

"It's not, but it'll do for now." Chuck raised and lowered a shoulder in a half shrug. "He's been reaching for you for quite a while now. He thinks it's his turn at the helm. But then again, he thinks there isn't anyone at the helm. An advantage for me."

"I wouldn't have thought Crowley had that kind of juice."

"He's not nearly as powerful as he thinks he is. All he can do is corrupt what I've created. Which is exactly what he has planned for you."

Crowley's voice, this time louder, stronger, rang in Dean's ears. "It's life — a new kind of life."

"Corruption? Really?" Dean had seen a little of what Crowley could do, after all.

Chuck grinned. "Please." Blue eyes rolled expressively. "If Crowley was half as strong as he thought he was, don't you think he could grow more hair on that vessel he's sporting?"

Dean tipped his head back and laughed as Crowley's voice echoed this time like a sonic boom in his ears. "Open your eyes, Dean. See what I see. Feel what I feel. And let's go take a howl at that moon."

"Go Dean. You'll think this was a dream, but I'm here and I'm watching. You are mine, no matter what happens. We'll continue this conversation later. I promise." Dean felt a strong hand grip his shoulder for a moment, warmth radiating from the contact before he opened his eyes to a darker, colder place than he had ever known.


End file.
